


Dreams

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Community: 25fluffyfics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-27
Updated: 2008-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I used to dream about you," Brian says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 122 / Post Season Five  
> Written for LJ's 25FluffyFics community  
> Prompt 13: Nightmare

Michael finds him in one of the stiff-backed plastic chairs in the waiting room. The room stinks of disinfectant, of blood. Mikey asks questions and he knows he answers them, just like he answered the police and the paramedics. But later, he knows he'll have no recollection of what he said. He stares listlessly at the beige wall. Michael holds his hand.

When Jennifer Taylor arrives, frantic, terrified, he avoids meeting her eyes. He knows what he'll see there. He already knows it's true. Believes it with every fibre of his being. Michael fills her in on what they know so far. Brian concentrates on breathing.

When the doctor says the word "coma", Jennifer wails. He has never heard a more heart-wrenching sound. Brian closes his eyes and clenches the scarf in his fist. Tastes blood in his mouth.

He finds himself in a different waiting room, pale yellow walls and bland artwork to stare at. He doesn't remember moving. Mikey brings him tasteless coffee from the dispensing machine and a sandwich that he picks at but doesn't really eat.

Eventually, Michael convinces him to leave. The blood on the scarf has dried to a dark crimson, almost brown. He staggers from his chair and searches his pockets for his car keys. He doesn't remember where he parked the jeep.

Michael steers him into a taxi and he stares blankly out the window, watching the city go by. They pass Babylon and he remembers Justin stopping him on the stairs, inviting him to his prom of all fucking things. He remembers brushing him off. He wishes he'd stayed true to his word.

He protests when Mikey wants him to shower but he finally acquiesces. He rubs the soap over his body and watches the water tinge to pale pink and then wash away down the drain. He stumbles naked into bed and lets Michael pull the duvet over his body. Hears Michael moving about in the bathroom, cleaning up his mess.

And when Michael finally leaves, he drags himself out of bed and retrieves the scarf from the laundry basket. He wraps it around his neck and closes his eyes.

He dreams.

He sleepwalks through his days at Ryder, gets high whenever he can, and fucks his way through a series of tricks. But never the same one twice. Not ever again. He's learned his lesson.

And he dreams. He dreams every night for two weeks, while Justin remains motionless in his coma. He dreams when Justin awakens, and asks for him.

He works and tweaks, sucks and fucks, and then spends his nights watching Justin writhe restlessly through his own dreams. He spends his nights at the hospital, silently watching, because he has to know that Justin is all right. That Justin is going to survive, and go on living without him, and find happiness. He has to know that his dreams lie.

* * *

"Ready?"

Brian blinks, the memory dropping away at the sound of Justin's voice. He smiles at his lover. His partner. He lifts his hand to smooth Justin's hair back from his forehead. He looks carefully, but he can no longer see the scar.

"Hey!" Justin protests with a laugh, pulling away. "You're messing my hair right before my big moment."

"I used to dream about you," Brian says.

Justin's eyebrows reach for the sky. "Really?"

Brian presses his lips together, and nods.

"Good dreams?"

He remembers dreams in which he was rooted to the ground and Chris Hobbs kept swinging while he watched, helpless, from the drivers seat of the jeep. Dreams where Justin never awoke from his coma. Dreams where Justin was covered in blood, screaming that he never should have come to the prom.

He knows now what the dreams meant. That he was caught, hook line and sinker, long before his conscious mind knew it. That he was in love, with all the goopy schmaltz that love entailed, back when he was still insisting that he only believed in fucking.

He knows that everything that happened before -- all the shit and the pain and the anger and the sorrow -- brought them here. To a small chapel in downtown Pittsburgh, about to stand up in front of their family and friends. About to finally use the rings that he couldn't bear to return.

Brian pulls Justin into his arms. "They were very good dreams," he says.

"They were pornographic, weren't they?"

Brian laughs. "We're going to be late."

"Brian!" Justin tugs on his sleeve. "Tell me!"

Brian mimes drawing a zipper across his lips, and Justin pouts. And the truth of the matter is, there were a lot of _other_ dreams. And some of them…

Brian smiles wickedly. "We'll re-enact one of them tonight," he says. "On our wedding night."

"I _knew_ they were pornographic!"

Brian slips his arm around Justin's waist, and leads him to the door. "Come on, Sunshine," he urges. "It's time to say I Do."


End file.
